


Fuck Me Running

by shiphitsthefan



Category: Charlie Countryman (2013), The Big C (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Featuring The Capitalist Hellscape In A Supporting Role, Hannibal Extended Universe, Happy Ending, M/M, Sugar Baby Nigel, Sugar Daddy Lee, fluff with a side order of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-06-20 21:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15542568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: Nigel, an unlucky college drop-out, needs a break, but life won't cooperate. The clock is running out on his student visa, and he can't find work, but going back home isn't an option.Lee, one of the lucky few to achieve the so-called American Dream, needs both companionship and an opportunity to feel like he's making a real, tangible difference. Running, while satisfying, doesn't fill Lee's lonely days.Their needs line up perfectly, on paper. If only Nigel weren't so stubborn about being helped.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> God knows I need another WIP, but fuck it, the world needs a fluffy immigration story with a happy ending and I want BearDogs. They are love; they are life.
> 
> I've been wanting to write this for several months. #EatTheRare was a good excuse. ~~Even if it is super late lol.~~ This will update at random times because, as mentioned previously, gazeth thou upon the field of mine WIPs.
> 
> Thanks to [Llewcie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie) for betaing and crylaughing with me at the idea. Bring forth the tale of stubborn sugar baby Nigel!

The coffee tastes exactly like it should: cheap and burnt. It’s only a means to an end, though, because the wi-fi here works, and the staff won’t chase Nigel off as long as he sits at a table outside.

Nigel hates having to budget five day’s worth of buck-oh-seven wireless, but the library’s no longer an option. Having the cops called for getting into a shouting match with a librarian apparently doesn’t go over in the states. Paying the court a month’s worth of rent wasn’t ideal, of course; still better than jail time.

Although, now that he’s thinking about it, scrolling endlessly through Craigslist ads for jobs, jail would give him a roof and three squares. A bitter pill, and he’s taken plenty of those.

_ Not into police brutality for fucking foreigners, _ Nigel reminds himself,  _ even if I  _ am _ white. _

Which brings him back to job hunting, and remembering he didn’t qualify for food assistance, and how police hate homeless people, too. There’s no more furniture to sell, and he’s running out of peanut butter and canned pasta and instant ramen, and the job market is  _ fucking impossible. _

The coffee blisters his tongue and hurts all the way down his throat, settling poorly in his empty stomach. He reboots his phone when it freezes, and tries to stop worrying.

At least Nigel has Lilac Shorts to look forward to. Lilac Shorts, the runner that passes by every day. Lilac Shorts, with his gorgeous smile and fucking perfect ass. Lilac Shorts, the man who single-handedly made Nigel realize he was bisexual, and he didn’t freak out, because he has too much else to fucking panic over.

Besides, why wring his hands when he can just go home and masturbate?

But Nigel’s fairly certain Lilac Shorts is older than he is, never mind the fact Nigel’s less of an eligible bachelor than his former fucking deadbeat roommate. Fucking Charlie.

So Nigel sits, and tries not to stare, and fails miserably, because he  _ is _ a fucking failure. Can’t lose scholarships, get fired, flunk interviews, and risk his student visa and not be a human disaster, he figures.

Going home isn’t an option, but staying here, buying bad coffee, squinting at online applications—it isn’t sustainable. Beyond that, it’s hell on his digestion, and a town only alive when students move back into the dorms doesn’t boast much in the way of a free clinic.

He sips his coffee and keeps waiting for his phone to come back to life.

“Hey there, stranger!” Lilac Shorts calls out, waving both arms in the air at Nigel as he jogs in place on the curb. He hasn’t even made it across Main Street, still waiting for the light to change and flicker green. Nigel marvels that his voice even carries across the traffic, scant as it is. Too many assholes in mud-flapped trucks with broken mufflers.

He gives Lilac a little salute, his usual wave emotionally out of reach. Another sip from a cardboard cup makes a good alibi, not that he needs one. 

Lilac runs toward him, the beat-up cars flowing past Nigel. He’s regular as a past due notice. “Same old, same old?” he asks, marching with a flex to his sneakers, toes never leaving the ground. His arms pump back and forth, like he never stopped running. All normal, down to the fun-run t-shirt he wears.

“You know me,” though Lilac doesn’t. “Boring as fuck.” Smiling takes more effort as the end of the month crawls closer.

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“So...surprise me?”

Nigel licks his lips. He can’t decide if he wants to chit-chat, but, “Looking for a job and coming up with shit on my hands.”

“A job? In  _ this _ economy?” Lilac stops marching, switches to waist turns.

“Trust me,” says Nigel, “I know.”

His whole face frowns, crow’s feet appearing from nowhere, his forehead sliding down to meet his eyebrows as his mouth slides up. No one should be able to talk with their entire face; at least it distracts Nigel from how obscenely tight his shorts are, as close to Nigel as he stands.

“What are you trained in?” Lilac scratches behind his ear and down his neck. His stupid gorgeous neck. Nigel concentrates on falling into blue eyes, which isn’t any better.

“I’m great at having migraines so fucking bad I can’t go to class.”

“Oh! You go to the Tech campus downtown?” Side bends. Goddammit.

Nigel shakes his head, tries to maintain eye contact, but he’s too ashamed to do it. He’s unused to that: shame. “Not anymore. Can’t hold down part time work—though, I mean, everything’s part time around here, anyway, yeah?”

“Unfortunately,” says Lilac, putting his hands on his hips and starts turning at the waist again, another rep of ten. “Capitalism doesn’t treat any of us well.” His pace slows as he adds, “Not all of us. Important caveat.”

“Can’t get disability. Can’t get...fuck, what’s it called, stamp food? I don’t know. Can’t file for a work visa because I can’t figure out the fucking paperwork, never mind buying a lawyer.” The words tumble out of Nigel’s mouth, rapid like he’ll never be able to confess his situation again to anyone. His still-dead phone remains intensely interesting. “Appointment for the career assistance center is two months out and twenty miles north. I’m up for anything at this point.”

“Like going for lunch?”

Nigel finally looks back up, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t want a pity meal.”  _ Yes, you do, you lying fuck. _

“Call it business advice with bonus food.” Lilac smiles; the sun comes out, and it burns Nigel’s face, and he sure as hell can’t afford aloe. “Swallow your pride and say yes, okay?”

_ Do it, asshole. _ “I’m good,” says Nigel, because he’s been in a cold war with his brain since the accident.

Lilac takes the initiative to pick up Nigel’s horrid coffee and speed walk it over to the garbage. “C’mon. Up and at ‘em.”

_ Hristos. You don’t even know his name! _

Lilac holds out his hand, the skin of his palm as smooth as Nigel’s isn’t. “There’s a burger joint on 3rd you’ll love.” 

“You eat burgers?” Nigel snorts, drumming his fingers against the table in lieu of reaching for Lilac’s. “Took you for a health nut.”

“Why do you think I run?”

Nigel grimaces as Lilac pulls him up by the wrist, no questions asked, and into a brisk jog. His shoes aren’t up for this, and his ankles are filing a lawsuit.  “Okay, but you run  _ everywhere?” _

“Should I not?”

“Can I register a fucking complaint?”

He comes to an abrupt stop, and Nigel could get used to hearing him laugh. “You might want my name if you’re going to pull the, ‘I’d like to speak to your manager,’ card.”

“So what is it?” Nigel takes the reprieve to stuff his phone in his jeans pocket

“Promise not to complain to management?” Lilac turns around, grinning as Nigel gives his first real smile of the day. “Aha!  _ There’s _ the boy wonder.”

Oh fuck. Nigel could get used to that, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting very slowly right now because a) I have a big bang fic to finish, and b) I'm gearing up for NaNoWriMo, and c) I'M GONNA BE A PUBLISHED AUTHOR IN LIKE A MONTH HOLY HECK. Sold my very first piece of creative nonfiction, and it'll be out on December 5th! I'll post the link on my twitter and tumblr when it goes up. Not that I'm excited or anything.

The burger sounded weird as fuck, but Lilac insisted, so Nigel ordered it. Rather, he sulked as Lilac ordered it _for_ him.

“I’m not a fucking girl,” Nigel told him, and Lilac just snorted.

“No,” he said. His eyes did a quick rake of Nigel’s body, half concealed by the booth. “No, you very much aren’t.”

Nigel drummed his fingers on the table. Better than squirming.

“No need to be a misogynist, either.”

“A what now?”

Lilac shook his head, smiling. “A discriminator of women, essentially. You know,” he continued, “someone who objectifies them. Kind of like your tattoo.”

Nigel’s hand flew up to his neck. “Friend did that,” and he didn’t explain further.

“Friend’s a misogynist, then.” He bit his lip, then turned toward the diner’s counter, as faux-vintage as the rest of the place. “Hey, Holly?”

Their waitress smiled over. “What can I do for you, sugar?”

“Grab one of my books for me?”

Nigel kept his eyes on Holly as she walked off to the other end of the counter. _Nice ass for forty,_ he thought, then wondered if that was misogy-whatsit, too.

“You keep books here?” he asked, and Lilac rolled his eyes back, gave Nigel more of his perpetual sunshine-smile.

“I’m a regular-regular, and you’re going to need something to keep you occupied while we wait.” Nigel didn’t get to ask for clarification, because there was Holly, newspaper under an arm and a thin book in one hand and the coffee carafe in the other.

_“The Awakening_?” Nigel turned the book over, then over again. “The fuck’s this?”

“A classic,” said Lilac. “I’m guessing you haven’t read many women authors.”

Nigel hesitated, then admitted, “You aren’t wrong,” and thumbed the well-read book open.

The coffee was good, as was the ensuing silence. Lilac read his paper, the local rag; Nigel tried to read the book, unable to focus on the page. It was almost like being dismissed, as if he needed to prove himself by making an effort to peruse his novel. Nigel was surprised to find that he liked the way Lilac’s treatment crawled beneath his skin—not rude, but unnerving, unlike the silence.

Lilac didn’t ignore him the whole time, though. Nigel was—and now, is—keenly aware of when he’s stared at like a burger, himself.

And fuck if it isn’t the best burger Nigel’s ever had, sunny-side up egg and all.

“Good, right?”

“Breakfast on a goddamn bun.”

Lilac laughs, idly munching on a seasoned waffle fry. “Yeah,” he says, “they do a royale right here.”

“Like _Pulp Fiction?”_

“Wouldn't know,” says Lilac. “Not my particular glass of grapes.”

More silence, punctuated only by the clink of the brown ceramic mug against the laminate table. A glance at Lilac’s plate shows he’s only eaten half of his food, making Nigel keenly aware of how quickly he’s eating his own. Maybe Lilac isn't clocking his speed, but the way he’s been watching Nigel means he's definitely seen his posture. Probably even before Nigel realized it. Nigel puts his burger down, rolls his shoulders back, hopes Lilac won’t mention how he’d been hunching over his food, protecting it.

“I promise your burger won't sprout legs and run off.”

_Well. Fuck._ “I don’t always eat like this.” _Yeah, just lie a little more. Great._ “I can take the rest home.”

“No, no, no.” Lilac reaches over, picking up one of Nigel’s fries. “Here. Open.”

The fry warms Nigel’s bottom lip. This is ridiculous, the most absurd situation, but he’s still fucking hungry. It’s the only reason he obeys and lets Lilac feed him the fry in a goddamn diner full of people. Of course it is.

“There you go.” A soft grin, immensely fond. Nigel’s stomach flips. “Not about to begrudge your enjoyment of lunch, and not shaming your hunger—wait, do you need groceries?”

His brain flops to match his stomach. “Thought you said this was just business advice with bonus food.”

“Groceries are also bonus food.” Lilac offers him another fry; Nigel plucks it from his fingers. “And we can hardly focus on business if you're wondering what you'll eat tomorrow.”

“I have food at my place.” Nigel crams his mouth full of perfect potato. “Sort of.”

“You might actually be more stubborn than I am. A truly impressive feat, not going to lie.” Lilac puts his elbows on the table, his fists supporting his chin. “I still don’t know your name.”

“Uh.” Nigel chews on one side of his mouth, pushing his food into his cheek. “Nigel.”

“Hello, Uh Nigel.”

He rolls his eyes. “‘I’m Dad,’” he finishes, looking at Lilac in time to catch a flush on his cheeks.

“I was going to go with Lee, but…”

Nigel blinks. _Judas fucking Priest._

“...A conversation for another time, perhaps?”

“Or maybe never?” Nigel doesn’t mean to snap, doesn’t mean to go on the defensive, but, “Is that it? Is that what this is?”

“What, lunch?”

“I’m not whoring out,” and now he _does_ mean to bite. “Can’t buy me into your pants that easy. I'm not for fucking sale.” _Well. Not yet._ “Don't give a shit about your goddamn royale and coffee and advice and your gorgeous fucking a—”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” The frown painting Lee's face is almost enough to make Nigel lose his appetite. “Honestly,” continues Lee, “I swear I didn't. It was never my intention to insult you. I only want to help. Not looking for a reciprocal...” His hand flaps next to his head until Lee winds up with, “Something. Whatever.”

Nigel deflates, glancing up at Lee through his bangs. “You're buying me lunch.”

“And dessert!” Like that, Lee's smiling again, like he doesn't have the time to be disappointed. “They have great milkshakes.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I don't think he's on the menu, actually.”

Nigel wants to laugh. He doesn't. “You asked about the larder.”

“And you never answered.”

“Look, nothing’s ever free where I'm from,” Nigel tells him. “It might not be cash money, but there's always a price, and I've paid more than my damn share, especially to get to the states, which was obviously a fucking awful idea.” He averts his eyes again and catches his reflection in the napkin dispenser. “A decision as bad as I fucking _look.”_

“I've looked worse,” Lee says softly.

Nigel opens his mouth to disagree—how could this weirdo ever be anything but beautiful?—then thinks better of it. He takes another bite of his burger, then another.

Lee grabs Nigel’s perpetually unlocked phone before Nigel can put his food back down. “Just think about it,” and his thumbs are too delicate as they pit-pat-put across the screen. His lips part as he types; Nigel sees the tiniest hint of tongue, and Nigel suddenly needs a glass of water. “Call me if your pantry changes its mind. Also your phone is awful.”

“It's my aesthetic.”

“Big word there.”

Nigel scowls. “I'm not a fucking meathead.”

“I know you aren't.” Lee flicks his eyes up from the screen. “I know you aren't, baby.”

And Nigel can't tell which of them is blushing harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lee "Help Help I've Gone Over A Decade Without Attachments And Now I Can't People" Fallon, everyone.
> 
> (And [here](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Holland%20%22Holly%22%20Hayes) are the other fics with Holly in!)

**Author's Note:**

> [[about me](https://shiphitsthefan.carrd.co/)] [[tumblr](http://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/)] [[twitter](https://twitter.com/shiphitsthefan)]
> 
> Kudos and comments validate my existence. <3


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